


The Deal With This Band

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Category: DCU (Comics), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Justice League Dark (Comics), The Demon (DCU Comics)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Demon Sex, Electricity, F/M, Group Sex, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Multi, Other, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Sex that never did anyone any good, Team Sex, Threesomes, dodgy poetry, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: Magic made them do it. (All of them.)





	The Deal With This Band

**Author's Note:**

> All of them? All right, then ;) Beta by navaan; title from Circle Jerks’ seminal Group Sex album.

This wouldn’t end well. This kind of magic never did. 

But there were familiar fingers unbuckling his belt and someone else’s power crackling across his skin, and John Constantine had never been the kind of bloke to turn down a challenge like _this_.

This was the way it’d happened: Jason Blood was dead, and some poor bastard had let Morgaine of the Fae out of her stone prison. She’d laid waste to most of Cornwall and taken over the House of Mystery before the League’s alarms had even gone off. 

When the team had finally come running, she’d laid waste to them as well. A curse that disarmed all devices in the vicinity, including Batman’s; an energy blast that had nearly flayed the skin off Etrigan. Then she’d turned her attention to John, taking a shine to what she saw — and then there was no night or day or room inside his brain for anything that wasn’t her. 

As it was, Zatanna had barely managed to shove her through the back door of the House: into the Dreaming, where she could try her craft on the current King of Dreams. 

When he’d gotten his mind back, John found himself half-naked and on his knees, and so hard he was soaking with it, in a House that was suddenly filled ceiling to floorboards with a thick, throbbing miasma of sex magic. 

_“Hey, help, I think it got me, too,”_ Deadman muttered in his ear, sounding more panicked than John had ever heard him. From down the corridor came the dazed snarl of the demon, which was when John realised Morgaine had managed to complete one final incantation.

“Bollocks.” It was one thing to try to counter sex magic; it was another to deal with sex magic cast over the _entire team_. 

John tried to concentrate, but with the pulsing rhythm of Morgaine’s power filling his lungs and invading his blood and coating the walls of the House with sticky, seductive desire, his own power seemed very far away. He wanted no more than to let the magic take over, and to fuck and be fucked about all the houses until there was nothing left of him, or all of them.

Fortunately, someone else was there who happened to be better at taking the lead. 

_skcigaM sucof_ , Zee said, steadily, as if the same desire wasn’t making her as light-headed as he was. _enitnatsnoC eht retnec_. Then she pushed him onto his back on the rug before the fireplace, and straddled his hips, and started to take off the rest of his clothes.

John felt her magic sweep through the main hall like an urgent wind, re-orientating Morgaine’s magicks, pulling the suffocating dark heat from the others, and anchoring itself deep in John’s own body.

The power crackled over him like the best kind of electricity play, making him spasm from his heels to his navel and the crown of his head. He heard himself groan with it, fighting for control. “Hell of a time to cop a feel, love.” 

“Sorry, we’re out of options.” Incantations spelled her loose of her own costume and laid her bare. “Not everyone can hold the centre, and you’re much better suited for it than me.”

“I’m here,” Batman pointed out grimly, from the corridor. 

Their team captain had Etrigan squared away in a headlock on the floorboards in the hallway. Etrigan seemed still out of it from Morgaine’s initial attack, but he wouldn’t be for long — not with the oily magic coiling through all of them and drawing everything to its new centre. 

Zatanna didn’t look up from her work. “You’re not a magician, Bruce. Besides, you need to keep hold of Etrigan until I’m done. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Take your time,” Batman said, deadpan, and she snickered as she took hold of John’s hard-on with renewed intent. 

“This okay with you, John?”

It’d been years since New York and Nick Necro; he'd clean forgotten how soft her skin was. He had to swallow as she started to stroke him — firm, full-handed strokes that reminded him how good she was at _this_ , too. 

“Shite, it’s fine. Just call me the League’s village bicycle.” 

She leaned in to press her lips to his. “Quiet, you, and help me get off.”

Anything to oblige the lady. John palmed her breasts and ran his hands down her body, remembering the way of old. She stifled a small noise as he rubbed his thumb over her clit. The sweat stood out on her brow; clearly she wasn’t as completely in control as she appeared, or at all, which was something else he remembered about her.

Of course, he wouldn’t be John Constantine if he let anything go. “You that keen to get it over with? Should I be hurt?”

“I’ll only hurt you if you want me to,” she muttered, spreading her thighs and taking him in.

Again, the jolt of magic: as if she’d put clamps on his nipples and sent a hundred volts through his skin. He felt himself jack-knife under her, helpless, the squeeze of her muscles the only thing anchoring him to the earth. 

“ _Fucking_ , love!”

“More?” she asked against his mouth, as she started to move against him. 

“Yeah, more. Anything. Anything you want. Just let me —“

She set the pace for them: slowly at first, and then, as the spell sunk its hooks deeper into them both, faster and faster, giving herself over to the magic and showing him how it was overtaking her. He could feel the tremors building in her body, her power calling to his, the magic calling to magic, turning Morgaine's curse into something else, something new. It overwhelmed John as well and they flared alight together.

Maybe it wasn’t just the magic. This thing with Zee, it never would be just that.

With some effort, John struggled his way back to himself. The cloying magic still clung to the walls and lingered in his blood, but it wasn't nearly as oppressive as before. He drew in a long breath and felt the answering surge of power under his breast-bone. Zee's spell was working: the centre was holding. 

"I’m done," Zatanna said; she climbed unsteadily off him and tried to re-arrange the dark tangle of her hair. "Bruce, you might want to get the demon over here if you can. He's up now."

John narrowly bit back a curse. Blow him if his balls didn’t shrink at the thought of it — he was no stranger to demon lovers, but Etrigan’s armoured monstrosity was a completely different proposition altogether. His cock, though, had other ideas: fueled by sex magic, it stirred as if to take in the air.

Ah, bugger it all to hell. He wasn’t going to let Zee do this. And it seemed he was actually getting hard again over the prospect of being taken for a pony ride by a warrior demon.

As Batman shouldered Etrigan over to the fireplace, Zatanna sat back on her heels and addressed the intangible member of their team. "How’re you holding up, Boston Brand?"

 _I’ll wait my turn,_ Deadman said, sourly. His spectral face looked sweaty and flushed. John would’ve wagered good money that sex magic didn’t work on spirits, and by the looks of it, both he and Boston Brand would’ve lost that bet. _Besides, I think Etrigan’s had enough of sharing his skull with other people._

For a long moment Etrigan was silent, and John wondered if they’d managed to dodge that bullet after all. Then he raised his massive head, and bared the teeth that had had rent ten thousand heads from their bodies, and John almost swallowed his tongue.

 **Jason Blood, my host for these long centuries, is gone. Now for the first time since that day, someone else’s fire has filled this form.** His red eyes flared with the reflected light of Hell. **What fire is this? I’m inhabited with a hitherto unknown desire — to wreak my pleasure over demon, and over man — and not to stop until all life runs cold, and my seed spilled across the land.**

“You don’t need to do that, mate, I’m right here,” John remarked; Zatanna said, urgently, “Etrigan, the Fae’s sex magic is making you want to mate and kill. Listen to us, we’ve found a way to break the curse.”

Etrigan took hold of himself with visible effort. **The Fae’s curse is the source of this new compulsion? I see. I’ll wager you and the Laughing Magician have a solution. But do it quick, before I tire of holding my will in check, and slake my thirst with your blood, and make his House a wreck.**

This wasn’t going to end at all well, but despite everything it seemed John was now, once again, fully hard. “You know just what to say to get a bloke in bed, don’t you? Come here, then.” 

**That is what I do intend** , Etrigan growled, almost agreeably, and John crawled to his knees and pulled the demon’s loincloth aside and took the enormous member into his mouth.

It was so godawful even John couldn’t look at it; it tasted of hellfire and brimstone, and every filthy deed John had ever done. Zatanna’s magic buttressed his and held him up, and it wasn’t nearly enough. John choked and convulsed, and tears ran down his face, and he still couldn’t stop gagging himself on massive demon prick.

Dimly, he could sense Batman and Zee wrestling with Etrigan, trying with magic and brute force to stop the monster from motherfucking tearing him a new gobhole. At this stage he’d pretty much given up caring. He was half-blind with asphyxiation; his throat was on fire, his hands slipping and sliding on the impossible girth of the thing, and he was being ripped apart in slow motion, buildings and cities imploding and cars crashing into each other, the centre unable to hold ... 

…Well, if John Constantine was going to die, _too much dick_ wasn’t the worst way to go. 

Some remnant of self-preservation made him pull back at the last moment, and gouts of fiery demon seed spurted across his face and hands. It seared his skin and set fire to his hair, and then John felt himself coming, too. 

**…and thus a demon makes an end,** he heard Etrigan saying. The fucker sounded rather pleased with himself. John supposed he should feel vaguely chuffed that he’d managed to survive halfway decent demon sex, but he couldn’t feel his face or any other part of his body.

When at last he managed to open his eyes, Etrigan was leaning over him. The demon looked more like his old self again, though he was wearing an expression that John had never seen before and wasn’t sure how to interpret.

 **Oddly, this encounter was not unromantic. We should revisit this when matters are less frantic.** The demon hefted his monstrous bulk to its feet and re-arranged his armour, and then sketched a mocking bow in their direction. **But for now, I’ll withdraw in favour of the final man. And take my revenge: the Fae has waged war with Etrigan.**

Gloved hands were patting the sparks out of his hair. Their dour leader looked as stoic as ever, but John wasn’t fooled for a moment. He could see the rapid pulse under Batman’s jaw, and smell the sticky-sweet odour of arousal; he didn’t have to be psychic to know how much strain it was costing Batman to hold himself back until everyone else had been purged of the sex magic curse.

“Good things come to those who wait,” John quipped, or tried to, at any rate — it came out in hoarse, unintelligible sounds. Not a surprise: he’d always known that either the blowjobs or the cigarettes would get him this way in the end. 

“Save your strength,” Batman said, neutrally. “I know we’re on the clock, but I can wait until you’ve had something to drink.”

John snorted. “Even if that were true, I think Deadman’s about to pass out,” he croaked, and hauled Batman down to him before the pillock could change his mind. 

He’d never had the pleasure — someone as obsessive and guarded as Batman didn’t make a habit of intimacy, never mind the front affected by his playboy alter ego — but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t imagined it. The matinee-idol looks, the tall, broad-shouldered physique, those things were the stuff of a queer boy’s dreams or nightmares; the perfectly-cut mouth set in an amused line that John wanted to smack off that upper-class face.

He settled for kissing it instead, a brief press of lips that was almost chivalrous. John tasted the man’s inner struggle, and then the tart sweetness of his surrender as Bruce Wayne let himself kiss back.

“Have it your way, then,” Bruce murmured and started to strip off his armour, with methodical movements that betrayed nothing of his current state of extremity. Zatanna made an involuntary, appreciative sound that conveyed she’d never had the pleasure, either — funny thing, John had always assumed those two had done the deed at some stage during their long friendship. Not that there was anything funny about where they were now, all three of them: stripped of their costumes and naked as the day they’d been born, with the Fae’s sex magic hanging in the thick, charged air between them. 

_Four_ of them, if you included the demon lurking in the shadows, and five counting Boston Brand — who took that moment to slide into John’s brain, right under his occipital lobe. 

_Sorry, Con Job, you were right. Never thought I’d die from blue balls, especially not after I died the first time, but this chick’s curse is something else. Never felt anything like it._

John could feel it too, and it was unsettling: a dead man’s magicked-up desire rolling around his own brain in waves of roiling heat.

“Is Brand on board?” Bruce asked. The dim hallway lights slid over his naked muscles as he lifted John up easily, like he weighed nothing at all. It was much more arousing than anything ought to be. In his mind, Deadman sighed in helpless agreement.

“Yeah. Gotta say, didn’t figure you’d be up for threesomes, Batman.”

The perfect lips curled. “You’re doing me a disservice, Constantine. The Batman’s always up for anything.”

“Is that right,” John managed as Batman leaned in. John was much less reticent about kissing back. The slow slide of tongues roused him for the third time that night, and he bit back a groan as Batman’s calloused fingers circled the rim of his hole.

One of the few positive things about sex curses was that the oily, oozing magic was a natural lube. It clung to John’s skin, mingling with tears and sweat and the sticky, drying come, and made everything slick and wet. Batman grunted in surprise as his fingers slid easily into John’s arse, and an answering, astonished yelp wrenched itself from Boston Brand.

“You’re drenched,” Bruce muttered, and Deadman gasped, _Fuck, I’d forgotten what it’s like_ , and the need rose within John to bloody well show them how all-consuming sex could be. 

Fiercely, he seized hold of the body in his arms and the consciousness in his mind, and spread himself wide open for the both of them.

“Yeah, it’s like this. Come on, love —”

Batman made an affirmative noise, and took hold of John’s hips; both John and Deadman cried out as he rammed his prick into John’s hole and filled both of them to the hilt.

The Batman lived with a darkness that he had less of a grip on than he thought. Boston Brand straddled the edge of Heaven and Hell. John had had his fair share of lovers but he was under no illusions about what all of it meant — for men like them, sex was the grim and filthy thing it always was, and no amount of magic could dress it up in anything else.

There was a shitload of magic there, though, and it was every bit as obscene and obsessive as it had ever been. As Deadman panted in John’s ear and as Batman pounded John’s arse into the floorboards like a metronome, under his skin, inside his brain, hunger and darkness roared to life in a blaze that could burn all three of them to the ground.

Boston Brand was shouting something John didn’t understand; the Deadman was moments away from tearing himself out of John’s head. Batman had started to swear helplessly, the sweat pouring off him, struggling to hold on to that celebrated control while coming apart deep inside John’s body. And there wasn’t nearly enough left of John to realise he was being consumed alive by the fire — the conflagration searing flesh from bone, the spools of power fraying around him, in agonising pain and even more agonising pleasure. 

_—It’s too much —_

“It’s too much, _fuck_ —"

“— Hold on,” Batman panted; “I’m here,” and John felt something unlock; felt Bruce Wayne thrust open the last gates of himself. 

The way was unguarded at last, and John was there to meet him with Boston Brand in his head, and a rushing wave crashed over the three of them — a wave that could have laid ruin to them, but that brought shattering relief instead. 

When John returned to consciousness, he was gratified to note the House of Mystery wasn’t on fire. The main hall looked slightly singed around the edges, but it seemed to have otherwise survived the inferno of sex magic. 

Something else had survived the inferno, as well, just about. Batman lay on his back, naked body covered in sweat, one arm hooked around John in a clasp that would have looked impersonal to a casual observer. His eyes were shut, his face set in the grim expression it probably wore even in sleep.

John didn’t want to know how much lowering those last defences had cost Bruce Wayne. Hell, he wasn’t sure what that last encounter had cost him, and John Constantine prided himself on knowing what everything cost.

Boston Brand was nowhere to be seen. John just had to trust the Deadman hadn’t exploded into the atmosphere from sexual frustration or its release.

The walls of the House were damp, as if they’d been doused in cleansing rain: Zatanna’s conjuring, probably. She was curled against Batman’s other side, once again fully clothed. She was wide awake; she didn’t look at all peaceful. When she felt him turn his gaze to her, she looked away.

Damn it, he should have known what a bad idea this was.

Could there actually be an ending to this that didn't end in tears? Maybe, if one of them made the first move to let their guard down again. John Constantine wasn’t betting on anyone doing that, though, least of all him.

It was surprisingly difficult to reach for his usual flippant tone. “What do you know, sex _does_ fix all the things. Remind me to bring this up at the next apocalypse, or the next time you have a headache. That goes for all four of you,” he added, as Zatanna sat up affrontedly, and Batman opened his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be so sure there’ll _be_ a next time, mister.” 

Batman shrugged. “Knowing what we know, Zee, I’d say the man has a point.” She turned her glare to him, and he smiled his rare smile at her in response. “Or maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.”

Zatanna looked surprised; she turned away, but not quickly enough to hide her blush. Somewhere in the corners of the House, the demon chuckled, a sound that had a new, distinctly sexual edge.

John grinned fiercely to himself and started to look for his clothes. This hadn’t ended well at all, and it wasn’t over: they needed to face off against Morgaine and her magic again, and hope they'd come off the better this time around. But while it lasted, it was promising to be one hell of a trip.

**Author's Note:**

> A DC villainess from the Arthurian era, Morgaine le Fae was [imprisoned in a stone icon and entrusted to Jason Blood for safekeeping](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morgaine_le_Fey_\(DC_Comics\)). 
> 
> JC's no stranger to demon sex, e.g. hooking up with demoness Ellie in [Hellblazer 105](http://www.insanerantings.com/hell/history/tp/difficult.html).


End file.
